


with vim and vigour

by bukkunkun



Series: The Metaverse Hotel and Casino [5]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Angst and Porn, Auctions, Character Death, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crime Fighting, Crimes & Criminals, Crossdressing, Detectives, Disguise, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Sad Ending, Secret Relationship, Tragedy, Tragic Romance, honestly this was super painful to write and im already depressed ha fucking ha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 17:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12281205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: tie-in/spin-off to Beginner's Luck (and homme, ta cage j'abandonne).The story of how Arsene Lupin met Robin Ganimard, and the tragedy that befell them.has major character death. was already warned of in the main story. please read at your own risk.





	with vim and vigour

**Author's Note:**

> my hc name for human!robin hood is robin ganimard and this entire spinoff started off sounding like a maurice leblanc novel
> 
> today is a cursed day and i hate it but take this anyway
> 
> the black swan is a fictional gemstone. i'm sorry to the good people of belarus for messing anything up.

Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard had always thought that the notion of chasing after fairy tales was pointless, futile and only ended in heartbreak. It was partly the reason why he didn’t take the assignment to chase after the biggest name in the world of crime as of yet.

“Arsene Lupin.” The chief inspector was a short, rotund man with a bushy salt-and-pepper fringe. His Londoner accent was thicker than anyone Robin had ever met, and he grew up in the same city, despite his family having French roots. Robin sat amongst his fellows inside the briefing room, also with his own paper folder that had the same documents as the rest of the room did—a summary of evidence—however little of it—on the infamous international phantom thief, Arsene Lupin.

“Slimy fellow.” He commented, shaking his head and peering at them underneath a bushy eyebrow. “Unfortunate he shares a name with a family of nobles in France, but I suppose that just means this is a pen name of his.”

He cleared his throat. “Anyway! Today, we’re briefing on an announced heist later tonight. The sneaky bastard left a calling card on Mrs. Halton’s desk last night, announcing that he’ll be stealing a genuine Madarame portrait from her. As per her request to have the police deal with this, I’m deploying most of the Met to deal with him. When he comes to get it, we’ll be there to get _him._ Assignments!”

Robin looked down at the folder in his hands, and frowned. He opened it to find a copy of the calling card, and read it quickly.

_Madame Halton—_

_There is, hanging from a gilded hook in the middle of your private quarters’ living room, a purportedly genuine portrait from the Japanese artist Ichiryusai Madarame. It is to my taste—a beautiful portrait of a young woman smiling mysteriously at fog is a true mystery, as is the fact you employ such a simple lock for such a precious room. Your champagne diamond earrings are quite tasteful as well—your first suitor truly was much better than your husband now, unfortunately._

_As for the present, I am content with simply the painting, and I expect her to be on the floor in the west wing of your mansion by six in the evening, sharp, tomorrow. Should you fail to do so, I will come by to remove her myself, along with other little trifles I may find worthwhile appropriating._

_Do accept my apologies for any inconveniences I may cause upon your lovely self, and believe me to be your humble servant,_

_Arsene Lupin._

Robin frowned. What in the _hell_ was this man thinking?

“Ganimard.” The chief said, and his head shot up.

“Sir.” He replied.

“Speak with Mr. Arsene Lupin the Fourth. According to past interrogations he’s been here for about two weeks now, and we’re gonna need an alibi for last night from him.”

“Yes, Sir.” He nodded, giving the man a salute as he stood up.

“He should be in his hotel today. Get a hold of him ASAP, got it?”

“Yes, Sir!” Robin’s arm shot down when the man answered his salute, and he strode out of the briefing room.

Well, he was simply glad he wasn’t chasing after _the_ Arsene Lupin— _an_ Arsene Lupin would do just nicely.

* * *

“Ah, Lord Lupin? He left a while ago.” The receptionist said, and Robin clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“I don’t suppose you know where he went?”

“I’m afraid not.” The girl replied sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Officer.”

“It’s no problem.” He told her, and strode towards the main doors again. Maybe the valets or the door security knew.

After interrogating almost a dozen valet drivers, guards and bellboys, Robin’s patience paid off when he intercepted a bellboy about to leave at the end of his shift.

“Um, excuse me! Young man!” He called out, and the bellboy stopped to let him catch up. The young man inspected him with a frown, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Um—yeah. You’re not that much older than me, dude?” The bellboy drawled, and Robin blushed in embarrassment.

“A-apologies.” He stammered, “Anyway, I’m Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard from the Metropolitan Police, I’d like to ask you a few questions before you go.”

The bellboy’s eyes widened. “P-police?” He stammered, “H-hey, we had a quickie but that was completely consensual! I-I don’t look like it but I _am_ 23!”

Robin blinked. “Excuse… me?”

The bellboy stopped, and turned an impressive shade of red. “So… you’re not here to ask me about how I had a quickie with a guest?”

Robin didn’t think his face could get redder—but of course it did. “A-absolutely not!” He stammered, “I’m here to ask you about where a guest could have gone!” He shook his head in exasperation when realisation dawned on the bellboy’s face. “Do you know Lord Arsene Lupin the Fourth?”

“Wha—that’s—” the bellboy stammered, “So you _are_ here to ask about our quickie!”

Robin gaped at him. Lupin had _slept_ with this bellboy? “I—er, _no_ , I just need to know where he went. I’m on an investigation right now, and I need your help!”

The bellboy pouted at that, and crossed his arms. “Oh, fine. He went to the Halton mansion. Said he had an appointment with them.”

“Halton.” Robin echoed, frowning deeply. “I see. Do you have an address?”

“No, but I think one of the valet drivers should know.” The bellboy looked around nervously. “Hey, listen, Officer—I know I kinda just… let it spill me and Lord Lupin fooled around together, but that’s just a one-time thing, okay?” His blush deepened. “‘Sides, he’s… really handsome. It’s kinda hard to say no.”

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. He hadn’t ever seen the man himself before, but many of the stories that made it to him told the same thing. Lord Lupin was quite the dashing debonair, endlessly charming as he was endlessly rich, and many a lady and gentleman had fallen to his wiles. To Robin, he sounded like an incubus, and it made him not want to associate with the man, at least in that aspect.

Robin was a professional, after all—it was unwise to fool around with people involved with cases—

 _Especially_ when said individual of interest is currently fraternising with a potential victim of robbery.

“Well. I don’t particularly mind.” Robin said tartly, “Unless he forced you into it?”

“Oh, no.” The bellboy shook his head. “I-I had asked, actually.”

Robin blinked. And Lupin said _yes?_

“V-very well.” He wasn’t sure why he was even having this conversation. “Thank you for your time and information. This has been… helpful.”

The bellboy nodded, and strode away. Robin sighed, shaking his head as he made his way to the valets again—this time, he was definitely going to find Lupin.

* * *

“Right this way, sir.” The maid was a timid girl, probably no older than 18, and Robin smiled at her kindly. He followed her from the front doors—where he had flashed his badge and gave the head maid the fright of her life without meaning to—into a large salon, nodding when she told him to take a seat at one of the plush sofas in the room. “Lord Lupin and the masters will be with you shortly—they’ve been discussing business, but they have been notified of your arrival.”

“Thank you.” Robin replied politely, and the maid left the room. He settled back into the backrest with a sigh, looking up at the clock on the wall. It was nearing lunchtime, and he had used most of his food budget on the taxi ride to the Halton estate. Wincing, he shook his head. This had better been worth it.

A surprisingly loud thud from an adjacent room made Robin jump, and he looked towards the offending wall with no small amount of alarm. “What the—what’s going on?”

A myriad of terrible situations ran through Robin’s mind, though one stood out from the rest.

Perhaps the thief had decided to show up earlier than announced.

Robin shot to his feet, snatching his service firearm from its holster under his coat, and he hurried towards the door. “Hold on, I’m—”

“ _Oh, monsieur, I-I’m coming!_ ” A woman’s voice came through the wall, and Robin stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening.

“Wh-what?”

“ _A-ah, milord—so good, so good—_ ”

A man’s voice, this time, and Robin’s cheeks felt like they were on fire.

_What was going on?_

He hurried back to take a seat on the couch, holding his head in his hands as he could hear the thumping grow faster, and two people groaning louder. The woman’s groans melted into moans, and then gasps and screams, and the man was positively _growling_ as the thumping grew more heated.

“Oh, good god.” Robin breathed. “The incubus. He’s done it.”

The maid from earlier, somehow no more flustered than she was before, returned with a teacup and a teapot on a tray. A small porcelain sugar bowl and a tiny jug of steaming milk stood next to a plate of biscuits on the tray as well, and she set each one down on the coffee table in front of Robin with practiced delicacy.

“The masters apologise for a short wait—their business has not yet concluded.” She said, pouring Robin a cup of tea, and the detective swallowed nervously.

“Erm, Miss—what exactly is the purpose of Lord Lupin’s visit to the Haltons today?”

“Marriage counselling.” She replied simply, “He has been dropping by for a few times these past two weeks now, and I’d like to say he’s been very effective with reconciling the masters.”

Robin peered nervously at the suddenly quiet wall.

“I-I see.” He replied. “ _Marriage counselling._ Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

The maid cocked an eyebrow at him, and Robin shook his head.

“Apologies. I can wait.” He said politely. “Thank you for the tea.”

The maid bowed, and strode away.

Somehow, cursing Robin’s luck, the thumping sounded again. The woman— _Mrs. Halton_ —let out a breathless giggle.

“ _Oh, Monsieur, you tease—a-ah! Oh! Yes! Right there!_ ”

“ _Look at her moaning. Won’t you make the same sounds for me too, milord?_ ”

Robin jumped at the sound of a third voice speaking. “ _Ah, if only my mouth wasn’t as occupied._ ” It was deep, rich, and it made Robin’s cheeks burn hotter. So _this_ was the too-charming Viscount Lupin. “ _My ass, on the other hand…_ ”

“ _Demanding as always._ ” Mr. Halton chuckled. “ _Here—take all of me._ ”

Lupin let out a pleased hiss, and the bed began rocking harder, the thuds now accompanied with squeaking wood, and Robin wondered how much longer he had to listen in on this.

The three of them were making love—rather loudly—right in the room next to him. The detective wondered how much of this setup was intentional.

“ _A-ah! Inside, please—oh!_ ” Mrs. Halton seemed to be having the time of her life, at least.

“ _Kiss me, Arsene, kiss me—_ ” Mr. Halton was a romantic, Robin thought dryly. He wondered why their marriage needed… intervention if he was like that.

Or, perhaps Lupin had charmed them so much to fall for each other again.

Robin blinked at his reflection in the tea’s surface.

How odd a revelation—and yet somehow, it made so much _sense._ He laughed dryly when he heard both Haltons climax, and ducked his head in embarrassment.

Perhaps there was some kind of charm to this Lupin man—despite his _tendencies._

The adjacent room went quiet after that, much to Robin’s relief. Maybe it was time they finished up, considering they had a guest waiting—and _listening in_ —on them.

Much to Robin’s surprise, neither Halton emerged from the adjacent room after a short ten-minute lapse of silence. A tall, handsome man with ruby eyes and curling, dark hair emerged from the door, his white shirt oddly impeccable, his pants still straight like they were freshly ironed. The only evidence of any form of debauchery in the next room was the swell of his lips, shining with either gloss or spit, and yet the sight of it made Robin’s cheeks burn. His hair was tousled, likely with hands that had been in them, though with the way his black curls turned, it only made him look tasteful—hell, even _more_ desirable.

The man’s red eyes landed on Robin, and the brunet jumped in alarm when the man smiled slowly.

“Ah, bonjour.” He greeted pleasantly, confirming Robin’s suspicion—Arsene Lupin, grinning like a cat that got the cream. He sauntered over to Robin to let him see the man was wearing stiletto heels instead of the sharp black shoes he came to expect of high society men, and Robin blinked at him in surprise.

He knew to expect a living, breathing sexual fantasy, but he never saw this man coming. Arsene Lupin had a beauty to him that was right in the middle of masculine and feminine, a sharp, strong jaw accompanied with the delicacy of his eyelashes and fingers. Now Robin understood all the rumours about this man—he was indeed appealing to both men and women.

Lupin cocked his head at him with a sweet smile, and his hair moved smoothly across his forehead.

Scratch appealing—the man was _gorgeous._ Like a Crown Jewel in its own right.

“Apologies for the wait, Officer. The Haltons are preparing to come see you in a short moment, though I have heard you were looking for me?”

Robin snapped out of his daze—that was right, he was here on a mission.

“A-ah, yes.” He stammered, tearing his eyes away from the beautiful man to stare into his teacup. “Last night, Mrs. Halton received a calling card from the phantom thief Arsene Lupin.”

“Ah, that man.” Lupin sighed, nodding as he sat down right next to Robin, much to the detective’s surprise. Their thighs pressed together as the Frenchman settled down, practically leaning on his shoulder. “Unfortunate we share a name—but somehow, requests for my company from social circles remain unhindered.” He chuckled, peering at Robin through long eyelashes, and the detective swallowed nervously. This close, Robin could see the man had a beauty mark underneath his right eye, and his lip had a small cut that was almost impossible to notice from far away. “I wonder why.”

He wondered why—only a blind fool would wonder why, Robin thought.

“Well,” Lupin suddenly pulled away from him, and Robin released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “Are you perhaps here to ask me of an alibi for the night before?”

“Yes.” Robin replied, nodding. “Where were you last night?”

“Asked like a worried lover.” Lupin chuckled warmly, and Robin flushed again. “My, you’re adorable. Apologies—I do love teasing lovely people like yourself.”

So Lupin thought he was… cute. Not exactly the development Robin was looking for.

“Well, if you must ask, I was enjoying the company of a most lovely young man in my hotel.” He said, and realisation clicked in Robin’s head.

“The bellboy.”

Lupin laughed, though not cruelly. “His name is Alonso.” He said, and Robin blinked. The man remembered the names of his lovers? This wasn’t exactly what he was expecting.

“I-I see.” Robin nodded. “So I take it, upon your good word, that you had nothing to do with the impending burglary on the Haltons tonight?”

“Ah, yes. That dreadful fiend would drop by tonight, they said.” Lupin shook his head. “Well, I should know better than to visit them tonight.”

“Yes, please stay safe.” Robin nodded, getting up to leave. “Very well. Thank you for your time, milord. I must go talk to Alonso again to—”

“So soon?” Lupin purred, wrapping his hand sensually around Robin’s wrist. “You haven’t even told me your name, Officer.”

That was right—Robin had been so flustered since the beginning, he’d completely forgotten to introduce himself.

“Oh, where are my manners,” he sighed, “I am Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard from the Metropolitan Police Service. Currently most of us have been mobilised to investigate—and prevent—Arsene Lupin and his announced heist in the Halton manor.”

“I see, I see.” Lupin nodded, humming, though he still had to let go of Robin’s wrist. “Allow me to introduce myself properly.” He got up, and gave Robin a disarming smile. “I am Viscount Arsene Lupin the Fourth, descendant of the first of my name from France.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lord Lupin.”

“Arsene, please.” The man chuckled, and much to Robin’s surprise, kissed his hand. “‘Lord Lupin’ is so distant, don’t you think? I’d rather be on first-name basis with the fairer sort of my people, like a lovely little lark such as yourself.”

“I…” Robin was at a loss at how… _forward_ the man was. He didn’t even know why Arsene was calling him pet names— _little_ lark? Robin towered over Arsene for half a foot—and the man was even wearing _stilettos_. “Uh… right.” He nodded. “I’m… going to go now, sir. I still have a lead to chase.”

“Oh, but you came all this way from New Scotland Yard, yes?” Arsene’s smile was radiant, and Robin couldn’t bear to look at him. “You mustn’t have had the time for lunch—oh, and the fare must have been abysmal!”

Robin deflated. Arsene, it seemed, was at least very, very good at reading people. An odd skill for a socialite to be having, but he supposed an excellent businessman should be able to read people well to secure good business deals. And illicit affairs with similarly affluent individuals like the Haltons.

“Come, allow me to treat you, good sir.” Arsene said cheerfully, “Let me just dress more properly and let us be on our way.”

“Erm—what about the Haltons?”

Arsene looked over his shoulder at the door, and shrugged. “Since they don’t seem to be coming out any time soon, I am assuming they do not intend to come out at all.” He patted Robin’s side, and then his cheek. “Please, do allow me to treat you, good sir. I… _admire_ the good, upstanding men of the Force, whether it be from home or away from it.”

Robin blinked, and Arsene’s eyes seemed to pull him into his gaze, a magnetic tug that he couldn’t seem to break free from, and he didn’t know why he said—

“Alright, then. Please do so.”

* * *

Robin didn’t expect to have Wagyu steak for lunch that afternoon, but there he was, holding his drool in at the sight of the tender, _expensive_ meat set down in front of him while Arsene chuckled fondly.

“You seem delighted, Officer Ganimard.”

“O-oh, I—” Robin cleared his throat, blushing in embarrassment. “I—I just, I never thought I would ever…” He made a vague gesture at their lunch, and the Frenchman laughed softly.

“It’s utterly charming to see you light up so,” he said. “I think I would like to take you out on another engagement like this.”

Engagement— _not a date_ , Robin reminded himself. This was fine—right?

Hell, he wasn’t usually someone who was easily roped into things like this, but there was… _something_ about Arsene Lupin that made it hard to say no.

There was a delighted twinkle in Arsene’s eye when all Robin could do was smile sheepishly at him, and the man reached forward to intertwine their fingers, slowly and sensually, on top of the table. “Please, when you have the free time—do call for me. I will drop everything I am doing for a moment with you.”

Oh, maybe Alonso was right—there was something so utterly _charming_ about Arsene that made saying no to him almost impossible.

“U-um, I can’t make any promises.”

Maybe after the investigation he could maybe try calling him? It wasn’t that Robin wasn’t interested— _far from it_ —but the man _was_ part of the investigation on the international phantom thief, and Robin couldn’t let himself get too involved with him.

Maybe not _yet._

“Even that sliver of hope is enough for me.” Arsene replied smoothly.

Damn, now Robin couldn’t wait for the investigation to be over. He wondered if he caught the thief, would that impress Arsene? Would that be enough to catch—and keep—his attention? The brunet laughed nervously, and shook his head.

What the hell was he thinking? He probably should get as far away from the man as he could to just get back into the game.

“Well, dig in.” Arsene said, “And do tell me more about yourself.”

“Will you do the same for me?” He asked, and Arsene chuckled.

“Depends on what kind of man you would like me to be.” he replied, and Robin finally snapped out of his daze.

That was right—Arsene was quite the Casanova, taking lovers left and right, both man and woman, but all of them were ephemeral. No one lasted more than a night in Arsene’s arms, and the honesty of a man like that was near impossible to trust.

His deflating was probably obvious to Arsene—judging by the way his smile dropped slightly, but Robin didn’t care. The man was too good to be true, anyway.

Later on, after a sterile goodbye, Robin deleted the man’s contact from his phone.

And that was that.

* * *

6:00 PM, sharp, the Haltons sat together in a private living room, looking up at the painting they bought off Madarame himself—the _Sayuri_ , lost forever to the art world—but not to art collectors. Mr. Halton had been proud of the purchase—a gift, to his wife for their anniversary in futile hope of reconciling their marriage, but a beautiful, rare painting was apparently not enough.

A handsome, young French nobleman, however, apparently was.

Mrs. Halton clung to her husband on the couch, more missing Arsene’s warmth than her husband’s, though the man’s temperature was an acceptable enough substitute. Both Haltons found themselves missing the young man, much more beautiful and daring than the both of them combined, and soon enough, like in a dream, Arsene sauntered into the room, smiling pleasantly at the both of them.

“Oh, Harold, Janet.” He said sweetly. “I’d been looking for the both of you. I was worried about the two of you ever since I left with the good Officer Ganimard, wondering what would happen had I left you two alone.”

“Oh, Arsene.” Mr. Halton breathed, getting up and letting his wife drop to the couch. “We’ve missed you—come into my arms—”

“Not now, not while a scoundrel is peeping,” Arsene hissed softly, gently helping Mrs. Halton get up onto her feet. “Quick, into your private rooms, I’ll close up here and make sure the fiend will not get away.”

“Of course, of course—” Arsene bundled husband and wife into their room, and locked it quietly. He turned around, and smirked at the painting.

He pulled out his phone and called a number on speed dial. “Alonso.” He hissed. “The painting is secure.”

“ _On it, sir._ ”

Arsene watched a small troupe of the Halton household help enter the room, easily bypassing the police stationed at the doors right outside, and they all looked at him expectantly.

He gestured at the painting, grinning. “There she is. Unfortunately, she is fake.”

Alonso straightened up, frowning. “What do we do about that, boss?”

“Well, a promise is a promise.” Arsene chuckled. “Regardless of authenticity, do take her away.”

“Right-o.” The eldest man in the group, the gardener, nodded. “Alright, lads, let’s get.”

They got to work on taking the _Sayuri_ down while the young maid approached him.

“Milord.” She gave him a bow, and he gave her a smile. “The perimeter is clear—you were right, all the officers crowded the side entrance, as you said they would.”

“No, my dear,” He said sweetly, poking her nose, and chuckled when she scrunched her nose up. “As _you_ said they would. The other exit should be open, yes?”

She nodded.

“Well done, Sonia.” He gave her a pat on the head, and the girl finally smiled. “Thank you for your help—you were indispensable.”

She looked pleased at his words. Arsene turned to look at the group loading the painting into a service chute, and he nodded.

“I shall take my leave the other way. Make sure to direct their attention to this room when we are completely gone.”

“Understood.” The maid nodded, and Arsene strode over to the other door, smiling to himself as his other team took the servant service corridor. The sight of him wandering the halls was common to the household staff—even to those not part of his team, due to his frequent visits to the Haltons the past fortnight. Arsene easily made his way around the house, and then to the western wing, laughing softly when he heard the beginnings of a hullabaloo from the other wing of the building. He lifted a mask to his face, securing it carefully before he opened the door leading to the outside, chuckling—

Only to come face to face with the barrel of a gun.

He lit up in amusement, a smile spreading on his lips unseen as he looked from the barrel to the face of the officer holding it.

Robin glowered back at him, determination in his eyes.

“Well, well,” Arsene drawled in a thick French accent, pitching his voice higher than it usually was. “Officer. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Hands up, Lupin.” He snapped, “Do not resist arrest.”

“Humour me, my darling Officer,” Arsene chuckled, spreading his arms to show he was holding nothing. “How did you know to find me here?”

“The maid.” Robin replied, and Arsene raised an eyebrow at him in amusement. “She seemed awfully insistent you would go through the eastern side entrance, and I did not like that one bit.”

“Oh, and why not?” Arsene hummed.

“I met someone today here—he shares your name.” At that, Arsene lit up, though Robin couldn’t see it under his mask. “We came through this way, and he mentioned how secluded this place was.” He carefully stepped forward, closer to Arsene, and Arsene stepped backward, right next to an unlocked window, prepared for such an occasion. “More so than the other side.”

“Perceptive.” Arsene chuckled.

“I figured you’d prefer to go this way, since Kent’s border is right beyond the hedges.” The man replied tartly. “And when I came here tonight for the operation, what do I find but a car parked right outside the gate, completely unchecked by the Met?”

Arsene let out a loud, belly-deep laugh, surprising Robin—though, unfortunately, not to the point the man would drop his gun.

“I can say with utmost confidence that you’ve managed to outsmart me.” He said pleasantly, “Very well done. You truly are a wonderful detective.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed at him. “Flattery won’t get you anywhere, Lupin.”

“Yes, an unfortunate lesson I learned quite recently.” Arsene agreed, and Robin blinked at him in confusion. “However, this is where I say goodbye, my lovely Detective. Adieu!”

Arsene threw down a smoke ball, and Robin shot back, coughing. Arsene gave him one last affectionate smile, before he got to moving. He climbed out of the window and onto the fire escape ladder, climbing up to the roof in time to hear the commotion in the eastern wing grow. The clear disappearance of the painting was now made clear, and Arsene was glad he had sent the painting down the employee chute to be picked up later. It was in his usual style to bring the painting with him as he escaped, but having met Robin earlier that afternoon sparked something… interesting in him.

Arsene had always enjoyed a comfortable distance ahead of the authorities as he traipsed all over the world, pilfering little baubles either illegally obtained by corrupt billionaires, or exposing even bigger crimes as he took something precious from villains greater than he was. It was his own odd little way of enacting justice, as his forefathers had done, and he continued the family tradition with great pride.

The sex and seduction that came with both his noble title and the job were pleasant bonuses, too.

However, with the addition of one Robin Ganimard, first of his name of a family that had always chased after Arsene’s across generations—something akin to the call of some form of poetry-in-life knocked on Arsene’s doorstep. It was like destiny—a Ganimard to chase after a Lupin, as if by fate.

Almost like Arsene had found someone who was worth letting keep up with him.

Laughing softly as he sprang from the roof into the waiting seat of a car he had kept near the front gates, he shook his head and started the engine.

It was almost romantic, really.

“Ah, my dear Ganimard,” He chuckled, turning on the Bentley’s engines to hear them purr to life. “I’m all yours.”

It helped Robin was quite the handsome man himself, even if he did dress rather poorly for a man of his stature.

* * *

Robin had a fast wit—he knew exactly what to do the moment a smoke bomb exploded in front of him, and that was to run in the opposite direction of the smoke. There was nothing of benefit to him if he ran _into_ it, and he knew where Lupin had run through. He had been standing in front of a window, and Robin had spotted its latch was open. The fire escape of the Halton Manor led down to the ground floor from the roof, so Lupin would have had climbed up to the roof, but to where?

He frowned, rushing towards his small car he brought with him, and just as he expected—while the investigation already went underway on the east wing—a beautiful black Bentley purred to life. It wasn’t the Haltons’—he hadn’t seen a Bentley in their yard when he arrived.

It was Lupin’s, no doubt.

He gave himself no time to wonder why and _how_ Lupin could afford himself a car that fancy, instead hurrying into his car and speeding after the Bentley as it pulled out of the Haltons’ driveway.

He could radio the rest of the Met to head after him in just a little bit—for now, an odd rush burst in his chest.

It felt like fate, for some reason—for him, the latest in a bloodline of immigrant detectives from France, a Ganimard, to chase after Lupin.

Like it was in his blood for him to be the hunter, and Lupin was his quarry.

An odd sort of not-grin crossed his face, excitement rushing through him.

“Alright, Lupin,” he huffed, “You’re all mine.”

He found himself wondering briefly how the Viscount’s descendant was doing on that evening, but the other Arsene faded into the back of his mind— _this_ Arsene was the one who stole his attention, and he wasn’t about to let him go.

* * *

Robin had been right about Lupin trying to make a getaway from the Halton estate into Kent, and he chased after the man until they drove past the county, and into the countryside. Lupin pulled into the ruins of a castle just as the sun began to sink, the sky turning orange high above their heads. The thief hurried into the ruins, and Robin was quick to follow him, vaulting over low walls to get to him, easily catching up with the smaller, much nimbler man.

Robin took a detour, running up a set of half-broken steps, ducking into the shadows cast by the sunset, carefully timing his tackle as Lupin ran underneath the arch he hid on top of.

He launched forward, grappling with Lupin until he had managed to pin the thief to a cold, crumbling wall, panting heavily as he finally let himself have a good look at him.

His eyes widened at the sight of Viscount Arsene Lupin the Fourth grinning back at him, and _oh_ —

His heart wasn’t supposed to do that stupid little skip.

“My dear Ganimard,” Arsene chuckled fondly, making no move to free his wrists from Robin’s iron grip on them, somehow looking perfectly in place pinned against the wall, caged in by Robin’s arms and grip, held fast and pressed chest-to-chest. “You’ve caught me. How marvellous.”

“You…” Robin gaped. “Arsene.”

“Ah, you remembered me,” Arsene said warmly, “And look—a beautiful sunset.”

“I’m not taking my eyes off you.” Robin shot back, and the man laughed, rumbling and sweet like the burn of whiskey, and Robin shivered. Arsene peered up at him through his eyelashes—oh, _curse_ those eyelashes brushing against that accursed beauty mark, and Robin could swear his strength was slipping by just the realisation that he was holding the police’s equivalent of a fairy tale right in his arms.

That, and the incubus prince of high society—Arsene wasn’t just an impossible phantom to the police, he was an ethereal being among the rich and powerful, all clamouring for his money and attention, his charm and beauty.

“No, please, do watch the sunset with me,” Arsene insisted, “I will not make any attempt to set myself free.”

“Oh, yeah, _that’s_ convincing.”

Arsene chuckled. “I mean it—I’m already quite comfortable where I am right now, cradled by your strong, supple arms and pressed right against your _firm_ chest.” He purred, and Robin blushed deeply. “It’s honestly like a dream.”

Robin shook his head exasperatedly. “Even now, you’re still a flirt. You really _are_ Lord Lupin.”

“I’ve told you before, do call me Arsene.” The man smiled. “Now, the sunset—I wish to watch it with you.”

Robin turned to look at the sunset, and his eyes widened.

The view from the castle ruin was breathtaking. He hadn’t realised the castle was right near a cliff, the sea stretching out into the distant horizon, glittering gold and yellow as the sun began to whisper its goodbyes. The sky was a gradient from brilliant, hazy orange to rich, dark violet, to deepest black, and dotted along the soft progression of light were twinkling rhinestones of stars. The constellations shone quietly alongside the peaceful slide of the sun into the horizon, as the wind blew comfortingly. Far below them, Robin could only barely hear the sound of crashing waves, and further on in the distance—seagulls.

He had to admit it—

“It’s… beautiful.” He breathed.

“Not as beautiful as the glimmer of wonder in those beautiful eyes of yours.” Arsene replied smoothly, and Robin turned to look back at him. “You know, if the police employed such handsome, intelligent gentlemen like yourself, I would have easily handed myself over to the authorities.”

Robin didn’t know what made him reply, “Well, a handsome gentleman like yourself shouldn’t be stealing things in the first place.”

“Stealing things.” Arsene chuckled. “I prefer the term… proactive procurement.”

Robin couldn’t help but snort in amusement, and it was so… _easy_ to laugh together with Arsene.

“Fine, my darling.” Arsene said, when their laughter faded into silence, and the sun had finished saying its goodbyes. Darkness settled over them like a soft, silken blanket, though neither men seemed to mind. “I will give back the painting—it was but a counterfeit.”

“Wh-what?” Robin blinked at him.

“However, I never leave without stealing anything.”

Arsene’s hand—suddenly _free_ from Robin’s grip, somehow—came up to cup his cheek.

“H-hey, you—”

Perhaps it was the rush of the adrenaline. Perhaps it was just the fact that the two of them were caught up in the moment. Perhaps it was the darkness, cloaking the both of them in protective, safe secrecy.

In the end, Robin didn’t know who moved first.

All that mattered was that Arsene had kissed him deeply, and Robin felt a whole-body shudder that shook him to the core.

He was kissing the thief.

He was kissing _Arsene Lupin,_ gentleman phantom thief.

His forefathers would be turning in their graves right now if they knew about this, but he found himself unable to care.

He was kissing Viscount Arsene Lupin the Fourth, the most desirable man among high society, a wily, shrewd businessman, a connoisseur of the arts and legendary evader of the law.

And by _god_ did he like it.

Robin kissed Arsene back, swallowing a pleased hum as he surged forward, pressing Arsene harder into the wall behind him. His hand let go of Arsene’s wrist to bury into Arsene’s curling, silky hair, and the thief practically _purred_ underneath his ministrations as he gently carded his fingers through his soft hair.

Oh, he’d wanted to do that since he met him.

Arsene’s arms wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling him closer and deepening their kiss, and Robin could feel his arousal start to stir. Unconsciously he rutted against Arsene’s hips, and the thief let out a shuddering gasp that stirred something _dark_ inside him.

It wasn’t like Robin had never kissed before—he’d fooled around a little back in high school and then in college, but something about Arsene made him feel like a clumsy, blushing virgin all over again. He parted his lips when he felt Arsene poke them with his tongue, and he welcomed the intrusion with a slow, sensual rub of his tongue against Arsene’s.

God, it felt like some harlequin romance novel right now, making out with an _international phantom thief._ And he was a goddamned _detective._

It almost seemed taboo—though the very fact that if felt taboo only made this even hotter.

He didn’t even know he was into this kind of stuff.

They parted, finally, for air, and Arsene laughed breathlessly, his swollen, shining lips a rather fetching sight even in the darkness of the early evening.

“Oh, Robin.” He sighed dreamily, his eyes glittering with uncomfortably familiar fondness. “I think I’m in love.”

“We’ve only met for a day.” Robin was panting too, his cheeks hot as his arousal was, and he resisted the urge to rut against Arsene to completion. “Maybe a few more dates.”

Arsene lit up at that, and Robin realised what he said.

“Ah, you’re falling for me.” Arsene said warmly, cupping Robin’s face in his hands. “That makes me so happy. Unbelievably happy.”

“W-wait.” Robin stammered, flustered. “Th-that’s not what I meant—mmph!”

Arsene kissed him again, chaste this time, and again, and again, delighted.

“I think this second date went rather well, don’t you think?” Arsene said, when Robin finally pulled away from him. He grinned wider, though Robin could see no malice—just pure, unbridled _joy._ “Time together in the ruins of a castle, enjoying the countryside breeze, watching the sun set—this went far better than I had imagined.”

Robin blinked at him. “You… brought me here to watch the sunset with you?”

“Well, and to get away from the Metropolitan Police.” Arsene chuckled. “Tell me—where else in the world do you want to go? What sights do you wish to see? On our next date, I’ll—”

“Wait— _no_ —” Robin shook his head. “There is no _next date._ I’m arresting you, right now.” He said sternly, making a move to take Arsene’s wrists again, but the nobleman was faster, and cupped Robin’s face in his hands again.

“Humour me?” He asked sweetly. “Before we part once again.”

Robin rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He huffed. “Paris. I’ve never actually been to France, even though my family immigrated to England from there.” He tried—oh, did he _try_ —to frown at Arsene, but the fondness that shone from the man was far too honest to have been faked.

It made something ache dully in Robin’s chest.

“Happy?” He said, and Arsene beamed at him.

“Immensely.” The man replied, and pressed down _hard_ at the tender spot underneath Robin’s jaw.

He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

* * *

The police found Robin unconscious on the ground, propped up against a crumbling wall softened by moss and vines. A designer coat was draped over him like a blanket, and on the ground next to him, was the _Sayuri_ —the _fake_ Sayuri, and he said so himself when the police and the Haltons arrived for him.

“Wh-what?” Mr. Halton gaped at him as Robin gingerly pulled the coat on, and much to his surprise, it fit perfectly.

“The _Sayuri_ is fake.” He repeated simply, gesturing at the painting, where another detective was inspecting it carefully. “The likeness is uncanny, but it’s definitely a fake. Even Ars—Lupin said the same.”

“Oh, he does like returning fakes he stole.” The chief inspector snorted. “Did he take anything from you?”

Robin blinked. “Oh, just a moment—” he looked himself over, and found everything he owned on himself. His watch was something cheap—Arsene wouldn’t even bother with that—his wallet was also untouched.

He squinted at his wallet. No, not untouched.

_Heavier._

“He took some cash from you?” A fellow detective asked, and Robin shook his head as he looked through the wallet.

“He… added more cash?” He blinked, and the detective laughed.

“Were you that pitiful that even a _thief_ gave you extra cash?” He snickered, and Robin stared at the wallet in wonder. “Man, Ganimard, you—”

“Wait.” Robin interrupted him, and he pulled out a red card from his wallet. On the back was the text, ‘ _TAKE YOUR HEART_ ’, and on the other was a message written with a typewriter.

_My dearest detectives—_

_As per the honourable Detective Inspector Ganimard’s request, I have returned the counterfeit Madarame portrait. However, I have instead appropriated Mrs. Halton’s champagne diamond earrings, Mr. Halton’s antique pocket watch, and your most recent guest’s cufflinks. Not quite as profitable as I had hoped tonight would be, but a sweet kiss from a lovely little songbird made it all worthwhile._

_To Inspector Ganimard: the coat and the cash are yours. A salute to a fine man who managed to—albeit briefly—corner and subdue me. Please, do come after me and try again. I found our encounter oh so very titillating._

_Your ever-loyal servant,_

_Arsene Lupin._

Robin’s cheeks burned. Arsene mentioned their brief, but heated makeout session. Granting, he didn’t explicitly mention that it was Robin he was kissing—truthfully, if anything, the _little songbird_ reference could even point at the young Halton household maid—but Robin knew better.

God, Arsene was so _forward._

He reported his findings to the chief inspector, who gaped at the letter.

“You _found_ him?” He gasped, and Robin wondered why they were having this conversation at nearing-5-in-the-morning in the middle of a castle ruin.

“Yes, sir. Followed him from London all the way through Kent to here.” Robin replied timidly. “My car should still be outside.”

“It is.” The fellow detective nodded. “Damn… so did you see his face?”

Robin did more than that, really.

“I’d managed to pin him down.”

Against the wall. And then proceeded to make out with him. Perfectly normal police protocol.

Robin sighed in defeat when his fellow officers gaped at him.

Yeah, there was no way he was going to convince himself what happened between him and Arsene wasn’t just _anything._

“That’s… amazing.” The chief inspector nodded. “Ganimard, you’ve just done what was once considered impossible.”

At that, Robin couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, sir.”

The man nodded. “Alright—he’d done you in last night, but even just managing to chase after him is pretty damned amazing. Take the day off, Inspector. We’ll get the Haltons sorted out.”

Robin blinked at him in shock, but he quickly recovered, lighting up in delight as he gave the man a salute.

“Thank you, sir! I’ll be back to work tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“I expect you to be,” the man nodded. “You’re our Lupin expert now.”

* * *

Lupin expert, The Chief had said. Robin went home delighted and giddy, almost completely forgetting the fact he hadn’t had breakfast yet—though, much to his shock, when he got home, a single gourmet meal, wrapped in food-safe plastic, sat on the dining table in the middle of his dinky little apartment. His eyes widened, and he approached it, to see this time a handwritten note stuck on top of what—presumably—was his breakfast.

_My darling Robin,_

_I apologise for disappearing so quickly—darkness always runs from the light, as you know. I took the liberty of preparing you a new coat—I know you would look simply dashing in it—and I made breakfast for you. I hope it is to your taste._

_If it isn’t—come and see me in Paris next month, exactly three weeks from today, and tell me what you want me to make for you next time._

_Or, perhaps, you’d like just me—something I have no objections to._

_Yours,_

_Arsene._

_P.S. The number I gave you back at our lunch after the Halton manor was a fake. Forgive me for lying to you—I hadn’t been able to judge your character completely yet to be completely honest with you. I’m glad you deleted it from your phone._

Robin couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer audacity of the man to go through his things—his _wallet_ , of all things—and _put more money in_. And now, he broke into his apartment, not to steal anything, but to make him breakfast.

And Arsene went through his phone. Somehow, though it was supposed to annoy him— _scare him_ , even—he found himself not minding as much.

Probably because of how honest Arsene had been that night they first met. The thief could lie all he wanted, but that night, everything felt so… _honest._

Oddly, it was the realest thing Robin had ever felt—perhaps it really was his destiny to chase after this man, even if it took all of his life.

He laughed softly and unwrapped Arsene’s cooking to tuck in.

And who knew—maybe it was Arsene’s destiny to be chased after, even if it took all of his life.

* * *

Paris, 6:45PM, Montparnasse Observation Deck—

A young woman fiddled with her long, golden hair, her baby blue eyes practically fixated on the glittering building before her. Beside her, a middle-aged man with a jet-black moustache sighed, sipping at his champagne.

“He’s not coming, my darling Marinette.” He said softly. “Come, now. Turn this way, let me see the Black Swan on you.”

She turned to look at him, cocking her head delicately, and her earrings twinkled in the dim light of the night around them.

Her delicate fingers, covered in smooth, white silk gloves that went up to her elbows, touched her chin elegantly, as if she was deep in thought.

“I am not waiting for Arsene Lupin, Monsieur Beaufort.” She replied, her voice a delicate alto, and the man chuckled.

“Then whom, pray tell? Every lovely young lady your age always seem to be looking out for that scoundrel—you girls should stop fooling yourselves, just because he was rumoured to be handsome doesn’t mean he’s good for you.”

Marinette giggled. “Do I sense a hint of jealousy, Monsieur?”

“Why, of course!” The man huffed, “How else can an upstanding bachelor billionaire like myself ever hope to retain the attention of any beautiful flower—like yourself—when Lupin is around?”

“Oh, my.” She laughed softly, and what a sight she was—a beautiful belladonna at 19, the Black Swan, a rare necklace with a 14-karat black diamond hanging from her neck like it belonged there. “You’re definitely a charmer.” She said sweetly, leaning against the man’s side with a sigh, and Beaufort huffed with pride. The guests around them—each and every single one a member of the Parisian elite—looked at them ruefully, either out of jealousy at Beaufort, or at his young, pretty Marinette. “But no—I am not waiting for Lupin. I am waiting for Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard.”

“Ganimard?” Beaufort cocked his head—only to get shoved aside by a younger man, only about three or four years older than Marinette.

“Ah, Inspector Ganimard?” The young man said smugly, settling down on the bannister next to the girl, “Didn’t you know? He’s not the only detective who’s seen Lupin.”

“Oh?” Marinette regarded him carefully, quirking an eyebrow at him, “And who might that be?”

“Ah, honestly—London police are raving about it since it happened,” the young man sighed dramatically, “But Paris has them beat.”

“Really?” A smirk was crossing Marinette’s face.

“Yes, my fair lady,” the young man held his hand out for her to take. “I, Detective David Geroux, have seen the scoundrel before!”

“Ooh, what was he like?” Marinette clasped her hands together in awe. Amusement twinkled in her eyes, though Geroux took it as amazement.

“A true fiend, mademoiselle—you’d faint if you see him!” Geroux said, nodding, though he still had not retracted his hand. Marinette made no move to take it. “He’s not as handsome as people think he is—nor is he as generous.”

“Ah, it’s almost seven.” Beaufort said from somewhere behind Geroux, gingerly. No one paid him any mind.

“From what I heard, Detective Ganimard made some lucky guess Lupin would hit Paris, going after that Black Swan around your neck.” Geroux continued. “Too bad the English police never funded for him to go after the scoundrel right across the English Channel.”

Marinette deflated. “So… he’s not coming?”

“But of course.” Geroux huffed. “Detective Ganimard came out lucky—that English pansy’s encounter with that wretched thief was just a hoax the English spread.”

Marinette fell silent, her smile dropping off her face.

“Detective Ganimard is a good man.” She snarled, and Geroux blinked at her in alarm.

“A-ah, mademoiselle, have I insulted you?” He asked, embarrassed, and she slapped his hand away from her.

“Promises are promises, but sometimes I simply do have to break them.” She huffed, and strode over to the bannister of the observation deck. By now, the commotion she made caught the attentions of the people in attendance, and screams rang out when Marinette climbed the railing, standing on it without a single problem on her ballet flats as she held onto the glass keeping people from falling off.

“M-Marinette! My dear, get down from there!” Beaufort cried, but suddenly a spotlight shone on them from behind her, blinding them all for a singular, brief moment.

“Detective Geroux,” a man’s voice suddenly said, and the crowd gasped. Arsene Lupin spun easily on the bannister, and raised his hand triumphantly, his skirt flying. “A detective worth his salt would have at least figured out that there was no such woman as Marinette de Valliére.” He laughed easily at the shocked gasps that rang out again. “And yet, Detective Ganimard, thousands of kilometres away from the Montparnasse Observation Deck knows what I look like, the name I had chosen, and the exact method I will use when I strike.”

He raised the Black Swan, and waved it cheekily at the crowd. “And with this, I bid you adieu.”

He leaned back, and fell off the edge, screams ringing out from the crowd of horrified onlookers.

* * *

Two hours prior to Arsene’s fall, Robin blinked at his laptop screen, frowning at the database of arrivals at the Charles de Gaulle Airport, as well as the Eurostar train station.

“Marinette… de Valliére?” He mumbled. “She’s… not here.”

Huffing, he looked further back—back two, three weeks—and he found it—

Not Miss de Valliére’s name—but Viscount Arsene Lupin’s, entering France via the Charles de Gaulle on a private chartered plane. Robin’s eyes widened, and he straightened up in his seat.

“Marinette de Valliére is Arsene.” He breathed, reaching for his phone, and he hesitated, frowning. “No—they wouldn’t believe me.” He sighed, and shaking his head, he turned back to his laptop. Humming softly, he looked over at the publicised image of Arsene’s calling card to Anton Beaufort, frowning.

_To His Excellency Anton Beaufort—_

_In your possession is an antique that belongs to the good people of Belarus. If my memory serves correctly, it was once owned by the Grand Duchess of Lithuania, Morta, and then made an unofficial national treasure for Belarus. The diamond disappeared upon the acquisition of the Soviet Union of Belarus, and I do believe it is about time the jewel returned to her home._

_As a little challenge, I will provide clues for my upcoming heist, and do publicise these as much as possible._

_To Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard, and to any more who attempt my trial:_

  * _The Black Swan will disappear at 7 in the evening, give or take some ten minutes before or after, depending on the company I will have the pleasure of having._
  * _The theft will occur at where the soul of Paris is most beautiful seen at night, with a flute of champagne and lovely, friendly company._
  * _I will be present in disguise among the guests of a very special gala to be held by Beaufort himself._
  * _Beaufort himself will hand me the diamond, and he will do so with express consent._



_I look forward to meeting you again._

_Arsene Lupin._

Robin pouted in thought. He didn’t know the layout of Paris as well as the French police did, and they _did_ only end up laughing in his face and blocking his number when he tried telling them about it the week before. He chalked it up to sheer pride they decided not to call him for help—Arsene had explicitly looked for him in the calling card, meaning somehow any other police officer or detective was second-rate to Robin.

The thought put a blush on the man’s face. Arsene was laying it on a little thick, wasn’t he?

Still, he had said he wanted to see Paris, so Arsene decided to pull a heist on Paris, likely just to see him again. The thought put a strange, oddly-warm weight on his chest. Really—the man could be charming, in his own strange little way.

The second clue had him scratching his head—no one knew Beaufort even _had_ the Black Swan until Arsene very publicly threatened him, and Belarus had _not_ been happy to know that. Demands and protests for the return of the diamond joined the news of Arsene’s heist like white noise, but Robin could only focus on finding Arsene again.

Even if he couldn’t go to Paris himself.

“Where the soul of Paris is most beautiful seen at night, with a flute of champagne and lovely company…” Robin hummed thoughtfully. “Soul of Paris…”

He thought back to the admittedly stereotypical image he had of the city, and the first building that came to mind was the Eiffel Tower. He’d always wanted to see it—he’d never been there, himself, though it felt rather… touristy for him to think that way. Still, he’d never really disclosed that bit of information to anyone, but he could leave it to Arsene to figure him out like that.

Robin peered at his screen, and inspected the few tabs open on his Google Chrome window. He looked at the blinking text cursor at the address bar, and laughed deliriously.

“Oh, what the hell.”

He typed, _‘place with the nicest view of the eiffel tower’_ , misspelling ‘nicest’ and ‘Eiffel’ twice before hitting enter, and he blinked at the first result that showed up.

“Montparnasse… Observation Deck?” He read, frowning. “Hold on…”

He looked through the site, and his eyes widened when he saw an option to book the place for events.

Cocktail parties.

“A flute of champagne. The Eiffel Tower at night.” His eyes widened. “Arsene, I’ve found you.”

* * *

Three hours prior to the rooftop party, Arsene Lupin slipped on a pair of simple white ballet shoes—flats, this time, in preparation for a tightrope walk he would have to do for his heist. A delicate knock at the door made him turn his head, and his wig of soft golden blonde hair swished as if it was real.

“Come in.” He said in a light, young voice.

Beaufort peered into the room, a smile on his lips.

“Marinette.” He said pleasantly, and at Arsene’s nod, he stepped into the lavish room—the most beautiful in his manor, second only to his own master room. “You look stunning, as always.”

Arsene gave him a shy, demure smile. The dress he was wearing was from the man himself, a lovely, flowing cocktail dress that was deep blue like a belladonna flower, and while Arsene was not too fond of blue, in his guise as young Marinette de Valliére definitely suited the dress.

Marinette, after all, had been crowned Beaufort’s precious belladonna flower, but Arsene had a different reason why he chose that name for himself.

The belladonna had another name, after all—

Deadly nightshade.

“Thank you. It is because you chose the dress yourself.” He said timidly, and the man laughed good-naturedly.

“Ah, but you are missing the finishing touches.” He said, and brandished the box he had been poorly hiding behind him. Arsene faked a gasp, blinking at the box in wonder as Beaufort opened it.

The Black Swan lay in a deep purple silk bed, glittering beautifully up at him, and Arsene’s heart leapt to his throat.

There it was—the lovely little thing he’d been after.

“This is the Black Swan.” Beaufort explained, gently taking it out of the box with a delicacy of a giant trying not to shatter a porcelain pot. “I had recently acquired it in an… auction between some friends of mine.”

Arsene knew that auction—he had tried getting in there himself, but the staff and security were actually competent on who they let in and out. He had been after the Black Swan back then, too, so he went after the next best thing—the buyer of the said antique.

“Oh, my.” Arsene itched to grab the diamond, but refrained from doing so. Beaufort brought it here for a reason, and after playing his cards right, Arsene knew the man would hand it right to him.

“In the three weeks I have known you, Marinette, I feel like I have found a soulmate in you.” The man said sweetly, “You’re such a kindred spirit—you understand me so well, and you are both beautiful and intelligent in equal respect.” He got down on one knee, and Arsene feigned delighted shock. “My dear, I trust with you the honour of wearing my Black Swan for tonight—as a gesture of my affections for you.”

He held out the diamond at Arsene.

“Will you?”

Well, there was only one answer to that.

“Of course,” He said delightedly, clapping his hands, and Beaufort smiled wider.

“Excellent. Worry not—should that Arsene Lupin come to try and take this gem, surely he won’t hurt a lady like yourself. I’m sure even he has standards.” Beaufort nodded. “If he does not—well. I will be there to protect you.”

“Oh, thank you, Monsieur.” Arsene said sweetly, though his smile was not of gratitude.

It was of victory.

“I feel much safer already.”

* * *

Arsene slid into the back of the convertible, laughing breathlessly as the engines started. The driver in front, a young woman in a cocktail dress, huffed in amusement at him.

“Do you have it?” She asked, her voice heavy with her Russian accent, and Arsene lifted the Black Swan hanging from his neck. Her eyes softened at the sight of it, and nodded. “Then let us go.”

“A moment, mademoiselle.” Arsene said, “They will be immediately after us.”

She raised an eyebrow at him from the rear-view mirror, and he flashed her a grin.

“Hand me your radio, Anya.”

She reached down for the glove compartment, and handed Arsene the radio inside. The man fiddled with it for a moment, before speaking into the receiver.

“Suspect sighted in a black sedan down the Boulevard du Montparnasse!” He said urgently.

“ _Well done, rookie!_ ” Came the voice of Detective Geroux, “ _I have him now!_ ”

Arsene turned the radio off, and burst into laughter. Anya chuckled softly, and shook her head fondly.

“To the airport, my dear.” He said when he calmed down, wiping a tear from his eye. “Let’s bring the Black Swan home.”

* * *

“So, you’re telling me that _Detective Ganimard_ is the only man who can chase Arsene Lupin?”

Interpol came knocking on the Met’s doorstep, but the Chief Inspector had faced them down with resolute confidence. Nervously Robin watched from his office, wringing his hands, unsure of what to think about Arsene.

He had several heists after that, all places Robin had always wanted to see—Bangkok, Santorini, Rio de Janeiro, _and more_ —and of course, Robin always therefore knew where Arsene was going to hit.

With how many times Robin faced—rather, was _made to face_ —Arsene, he grew to know how to anticipate the thief, earning him the awe and respect of many, and the ire and contempt of even more.

“Yes, only our very own Ganimard.” The chief seemed proud, at least. “After all, he’d managed to chase him down, and made him return some of the things he’s stolen before.”

Those had been flukes—during the times Robin would manage to pin Arsene down, the man would award him with a kiss, and declare his victory.

Somewhere deep, _deep_ inside him, Robin sheepishly had to admit that he found himself so very much enjoying Arsene’s little games. The heated makeout sessions they had whenever Robin won was more than enough incentive to keep chasing after him, though it was a nice bonus that Arsene returned his targets after kissing Robin breathless.

“Fine.” The agent from Interpol sighed. “We’ll call when we need him.”

The chief gave Robin a surreptitious grin, and Robin smiled weakly back.

So it began—Robin’s international rise to police fame.

* * *

Arsene was in London again, and Robin had been invited to a high society gala at a classy hotel.

Not as Robin Ganimard, no—

As a man named Richard King.

An invite in a sealed envelope alongside Arsene’s infamous calling card appeared in his apartment, along with a red mask and a brand new suit that—as always, somehow fit Robin perfectly. In the time he spent chasing after Arsene, whenever he ‘won’, Arsene left him a piece of brand, tailored clothing. A new polo, a coat, a pair of shoes—it was like Arsene was giving him a brand new wardrobe, though Robin couldn’t quite complain. Aside from his uniform, which was kept constantly perfectly maintained, the rest of his clothes were nearing a ratty state, so Arsene’s contributions helped.

The invite was to a gala hosted by a Lord Martin de Ville, and Robin tried not to think how hilariously shady the man’s name was. Arsene’s card was simpler than the letters he left for the police and his victims.  

_Robin,_

_I need your help. Please, show up tonight in the suit I gave you, this is important._

_Yours,_

_Arsene._

Robin eyed the suit, and had long given up on figuring out how Arsene knew his measurements.

He wasn’t sure if this was a hit—but Lord de Ville had been on the his watch list for some time now. Maybe it _was_ worth going with Arsene for some investigation.

* * *

The young woman was beautiful, her long, black hair in cascading waves of red-rose scent, delicate and sophisticated. She was in a beautiful, deep red gown, her slim waist cinched in a tight, blood red corset, and her hands were covered in black silk gloves that went up to her elbows. Her face was covered in a half-mask that hid the left side, white, in contrast to the rest of her dark outfit.

She stood in a sea of dressed in light colours—peach and pastel and white, and Robin thought she was like a bloodstain on snow. Heated, warm, and stood out in the most macabre, beautiful way.

He’d found him.

He approached her after the crowd around her dispersed, and he bowed lowly when she turned to look at him. Her suspicion turned into warm, unbridled delight when Robin straightened up, and she took his hand first without him offering it to her.

“Richard,” Arsene Lupin said in a smooth, ironic soprano, and Robin smiled wryly when he kissed his hand. “I’d been waiting for you.”

“Sorry, my meeting overran.” He lied easily, letting Arsene take his arm and practically cuddle into it. In a low voice audible to only the both of them, he murmured, “What’s your name?”

“Marianne Queen.” Arsene whispered back. “De Ville has his eyes on me—I need you to keep an eye on him while he is distracted.”

“What makes you think I’ll help you?” Robin hissed, though the both of them flashed twin smiles at a camera when it turned on them. A member of hotel staff ushered them in, and when they were relatively alone again, walking towards the function hall, Arsene laughed lowly.

“You _are_ here, are you not?” He replied, reaching up to kiss Robin’s cheek. “And this man has been on your watchlist, hasn’t he?”

Robin laughed. “You looked through my case files again.”

“I did no such thing.” Arsene faked a gasp, “Richard, how mean of you.”

“Marianne, my dear, you know I just love to tease you.” Robin replied easily, and Arsene’s smile widened.

“Excellent.” He replied quietly again. “Lord de Ville will steal me away soon, and in that time I will very likely be unable to act. I trust you, Robin—I place my life in your capable hands.”

Robin looked Arsene over. Marianne Queen looked back up at him, blue eyes wide with trustful innocence, and he smiled slowly.

“I’ve got you, Arsene.” He replied, taking his hand and kissing it, and Arsene laughed softly.

“Very well then.” He nodded. “It’s showtime.”

* * *

For the past few weeks, an alarming amount of young girls and boys had gone missing. First, they were young primary school children kidnapped following classes in public school, though soon children were going missing from underneath their very own parents’ noses. Concordant with the missing children were the disappearances of some high-society youths, ranging from late teens to early twenties, and the Met has chalked it up to a bunch of rich kids running away for a few days from home to go on a country-hopping trip across Europe.

Robin, however, thought otherwise.

Most recently, a cafe franchise owner, Frederick Sy, approached the Met for help regarding his missing daughter Charlotte. When Robin faced him to profile her, realisation struck.

“She has…” Sy had looked nervously around Robin’s office. “She has clinical depression. She can’t live without her medicine, she wouldn’t have left them in her room if she had simply run away.”

Robin frowned. “Can she purchase some on her own?”

Sy shook his head, holding out a pink wallet. “Her cards—all her money is right here. She was kidnapped, Officer. Please, help me find my daughter.”

Robin had dug deeper into the connections—something felt… _off_ , and he soon found tiny connections, seemingly superficial, and yet as his probe deepened, a single name began reappearing over and over again.

Martin de Ville, hotel owner. Every single one of the missing youths had stayed in a hotel of his, at least once in recent times.

Robin peeked into the man’s file—he had a sudden surge of wealth, though as noted by an analyst, it would have been impossible for his chain of hotels to achieve. De Ville was making money, somehow, off something other than his hotels.

When he presented his findings to his chief, the man sighed and patted Robin’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Ganimard, there’s a gag order on us for Mr. De Ville. You have to drop this case.”

That just made Robin look into it even more.

There was something fishy about the man, and when he spotted him take Arsene away from the function hall, he carefully followed after them. They went through hallways that grew progressively emptier, and soon they reached an empty function hall not too far from where the party was.

He frowned thoughtfully. All that effort to get to over here, when the other way was easier.

Something was going to happen.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and began taking a video of them as he hid behind a pillar.

Arsene and the man were chatting about something—de Ville wanted to show him something, and when Arsene said yes—

The man pulled out a piece of cloth and smothered Arsene with it. Robin’s eyes widened as the thief fell unconscious in the millionaire’s arms, but he held himself still. He had to see what he was going to do with Arsene.

One small relief was that de Ville was at least physically a weakling—he had a hard time lifting Arsene into his arms (something Robin found all-too-easy to do in the times when he kissed Arsene far too passionately against a wall to lift him) and carried him into the empty function hall. Robin never had a chance to follow him—the man was out as quickly as he came in, and Robin watched him leave to head back towards the first function hall.

When he was sure the man had left, Robin stopped recording and tried the door.

“Locked,” he hissed, shaking his head. There had to be another way to get to Arsene.

He headed back to the party, choosing instead to look for his ‘Marianne’, but no one had a proper answer for him. He made his way to the host, de Ville himself, and tried asking.

“Miss Marianne Queen?” De Ville blinked, “Oh, yes. You must be her fiancé, she did mention a Richard King.”

Robin gave him a smile and shook his hand. “Yes, I’ve been looking for her for a while now. I’d been meaning to tell her I’d like to retire for the evening, I have the worst headache.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate.” De Ville seemed relieved. Robin resisted the urge to punch his face. “Can you not send her a message?”

“My Marianne doesn’t have the habit of bringing her phone along to parties like this.” God, he hoped Arsene really didn’t bring a phone, “Have you perhaps seen her?”

De Ville shook his head—of course he would. “I apologise. But do retire for the night—I’ll make sure she is told of your whereabouts.”

“I’m sure you will.” It came out more aggressively than Robin had intended, but the context was lost on the man, and he strode away before more questions could be asked. He headed out of the venue, and back to the other function hall, frowning thoughtfully. He paced around the hall’s perimeter and found no other entrance—any other point of entry seemed to come from elsewhere.

Well—there was something else he could do.

He headed outside into the promenade by the hotel pool, and rang up the chief.

“ _Ganimard?_ ”

“Chief, I need backup.” He said quietly, “I’m in big trouble.”

“ _Wh-what? Is it Lupin?_ ”

Yes and no. “Yes, Sir. I’ll need a team over at Chateau Noir, we’ll be making several arrests.”

“ _Chateau Noir? Isn’t that de Ville’s?_ ” The chief sounded aghast. “ _Ganimard, this can’t be one of your_ —”

“It isn’t, sir.” Robin cut him off, “Lupin… has a really funny sense of humour.”

“ _Hm. If you weren’t our Lupin expert, I’d think you were actually complimenting him._ ”

Arsene was more than his sense of humour, for sure.

“Sometimes, I find myself wondering the same thing.” He replied, “Chateau Noir, in about half an hour. Can you make it?”

“ _I’ll see what I can do._ ”

Robin hung up, and nodded to himself. There had to be _some_ way to save Arsene.

He trusted him to find out what that was.

* * *

When Arsene came to, he found himself looking up at the three children he’d been tasked to look for.

Charlotte Sy, her blonde curls tickling his skin. Alex Taylor, the son of the baker down his street. Maddie Davies, the most recent victim snatched right away in front of her primary school’s front door.

Groaning softly, he sat up, reaching up to check his face—and as he thought, the mask was gone. He looked down at the wide-eyed children, and he gave them a kind smile.

“Charlotte?” He said softly, and the blonde girl jolted, trembling terribly beside Alex, the only boy in their group. “Your father gave me this.” He reached into the folds of his skirt to pull out a small packet of pills. Her eyes widened, and he gently handed them to her. “He was so worried about you—you’ve been a while without your medicine, haven’t you?”

“Th-thank you,” the girl stammered, and the two other children swarmed him.

“W-what about our parents?” Maddie, the youngest of them at 9, stammered fearfully. Arsene smiled at the both of them kindly, and kissed little Maddie’s forehead.

“The police is coming.” He said, “Officer Ganimard is coming to save us all.”

Alex lit up. “Oh! The only guy who could chase Arsene Lupin!”

“Yes, him.” Arsene chuckled fondly. “He’s a very special man, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Maddie nodded, “My parents said he’s amazing.”

The thief warmly smiled down at the children. “I’m… I’m glad.” He said softly, and pulled the two children into a warm hug as Charlotte returned to them, significantly calmer than before. He let her join them, hugging her warmly, and his smile widened when he felt the three of them calm down in his arms.

“Hey, big sis…?” Maddie mumbled quietly, “Um… what’s your name?”

Arsene blinked at her for a moment—and realised that he was still in disguise, somehow. He laughed softly at that, and ruffled her hair. “Marianne.”

“Big sis Marianne, where are we?” Charlotte asked, “W-we’ve been kept in here for a while, and when we were brought here, we were blindfolded.”

“We are currently inside Chateau Noir, and the three of you were taken by the owner, Martin de Ville.” Arsene explained carefully, “However, worry not—I have—”

“Hey, what’re you lot talking about in there?” The walls around them rattled following the sound of a rough voice. The guard outside must have kicked at the walls—of a cage, perhaps? The children immediately cowered in fear again, and Arsene’s efforts to calm them were immediately dashed as they clung to him again. His smile dropped off his face when a rectangle of light opened from somewhere above his head, and a pair of eyes glared into the cage.

“About how your employer’s a complete prat,” Arsene replied tartly, and Alex gasped slightly at his language. “And how cheap he is to desperately want a woman already betrothed to the love of her life.”

“Ah, Richard King?” De Ville was outside, apparently. The man knew nothing of how to properly execute theatrics, Arsene thought wryly. “Unfortunately, my dear, he has already left you alone here—he had to retire to ease his tired body.”

“ _Mais enfin_ ,” Arsene muttered under his breath. The children looked at him worriedly. “What a tryhard.”

“Try… hard.” Charlotte fought a giggle.

“Have you ever considered that people _can_ lie, de Ville?” Arsene drawled back, but when the door suddenly opened, he jolted in alarm. A hand shot into the cage, and his eyes widened. He pushed the children aside out of the way, but the hand wrapped around his wrist and dragged him out into the light, and Arsene’s eyes widened when he realised they were on a stage. A heavy hand kept him seated on the ground, but the shock was enough to keep him still.

A spotlight was on them, the heat of the light boring into his skin, like the hundreds of pairs of eyes framed masks stared at him.

He knew this place, good _god_ he knew this place.

“Bidding starts at a thousand,” de Ville’s voice jolted Arsene and he whirled around to look at de Ville standing behind a podium, holding a gavel.

The party guests weren’t there for a party.

They were there for an _auction._

The pieces fell into place, and Arsene’s skin crawled.

Good God, if he went here alone, he wouldn’t make it out of there alive.

“One million.” A smooth, familiar voice said, and Arsene’s world screeched to a halt when the crowd seemingly parted to let him see a tall, broad-chested gentleman raising a paddle numbered 28.

Robin looked back at Arsene, determination in his eyes, and Arsene’s heart leapt into his throat.

“She’s mine.” He declared confidently, and oh—

He was lovely, he really was.

He really was in love.

* * *

It wasn’t difficult to head out of the venue, knock out another guest on his way out to the toilet and steal his mask and handcuff and lock him in a cubicle before heading out. Richard King was gone, but he took over another person’s identity to keep investigating the disappearances.

And to save Arsene. But, the disappearances, first.

Robin strode back into the function hall, and he came to a sudden stop when he saw the back wall begin to slide open. He gaped at the wall, and then at the guests striding past him towards the second function hall.

“So,” he took a shaky breath. “That’s where I’m going, I guess.”

He strode alongside the others heading to the other side, a dimly-lit area that contrasted the old area almost cartoonishly. Robin spotted the guests picking up numbered paddles, and he took one, inspecting it carefully.

Number 28—right. He better remember this.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he picked it up, grinning slightly as he read the message.

 _We’re outside._ The message from another officer read.

 _Come inside, function hall number 1, you won’t be able to get into the second one through the normal way._ He sent back, and hoped they would at least arrive on time.

There was a stage right at the very end of the function hall, and a large, metal cage that didn’t show what was inside. A sinking feeling in Robin’s gut told him he already knew what was inside.

Not what— _who._

Robin could barely register de Ville’s speech behind the podium—welcoming the crowd to some auction event—but all the pieces fell into place.

The missing children. The unexplainable wealth.

His world came to a screeching halt when one of the masked staff pulled out a young woman from the cage. He knew who she was.

The woman was shoved onto the floor in the middle of the stage, and she looked dazed. Robin’s hand shot up before he could stop himself.

“One million,” he declared loudly, and the hall fell silent. The crowd seemed to part for him, letting him see the stage without hindrances, and Arsene, without his mask and oh so beautiful as Marianne—as _himself,_ gaped back at him from all the way from his place at the stage, and he fought the grin that crossed his face when he felt his phone vibrate again. “She’s mine.”

After that, Robin looked at his phone lock screen— _We’re just outside. Give us a signal, I can hear everything._

De Ville didn’t seem to notice it was Robin talking, and jerked his head at the attendants in excitement.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, what a brave man! To immediately outbid everyone in this hall!”

The murmurs grew as the attendants tied Arsene down, the thief squirming mostly just for show, but when Robin heard a soft thud on the door behind him, he knew it was time.

“Actually,” He said, and the hall went still. “I think I can do a little more than just outbid everyone in this hall.”

“Oh?” De Ville asked, and Robin grinned.

He pulled off his mask and threw it aside, listening to it skitter across the ground as he pulled out his badge.

“I am Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard, and every single person in this hall is under arrest!”

The door burst open behind him, and a stream of police officers hurried inside. The Chief managed to get more than Robin had anticipated, thank goodness—he hadn’t expected that many people in there either.  Chaos burst through the whole function hall, but most of the guests had nothing else they could do. A fellow detective came up to Robin’s side, laughing incredulously as the man patted his shoulder.

“You said Lupin.” He said, and Robin laughed sheepishly.

“Well, Lupin was a yes and no.”

“Hm. Well, even with the gag order, there’s no way de Ville is gonna weasel his way out of this one.” The man grinned. “Looking good, by the way.”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck, but suddenly an officer hurried to them.

“Sirs! De Ville isn’t here!”

Robin’s head shot up to see officers setting three children free from the cage—and relief flooded his chest when he saw young Charlotte Sy among the three. Anxiety spiked again, however, when he realised both Arsene and de Ville were missing.

He hurried to the stage, climbing up easily to meet with the three, and almost immediately they latched onto him, sobbing in relief.

He smiled at that, and patted their heads. “Has anyone seen the lady in red?”

“Big sis Marianne!” The youngest girl cried, “Big sis Marianne! He took her!”

Robin’s eyes widened. “Where? I’m going to save her.”

They all pointed towards an otherwise hidden door, and Robin nodded.

“Sir, take this.” An officer handed him his service firearm, and Robin nodded at him in thanks before bolting away towards the door.

It led to a thin, winding corridor, and the further Robin went, the more he realised where this was heading.

This led to the second function room door. So _that_ explained everything.

He could hear a scuffle ahead of him, and he slowed to a jog to hear de Ville struggling with Arsene.

“Hold—still—woman!” He snarled, and the rustling of fabric told Robin that Arsene was putting up a fight. Robin hurried towards them, gun raised, and found them struggling together, Arsene’s grip tight on de Ville’s gun.

“Hold it right there!” Robin snapped, and de Ville’s surprise made him lower his guard—enough to let Arsene overpower him and switch their roles. Now with Arsene holding a gun to his head, de Ville deflated, and sighed in defeat.

“You are too bloody strong for a woman, Queen.” The man said, and Arsene giggled.

“That is because,” he said in his normal voice, and de Ville jolted in shock. “I am not a woman.”

He pressed down on the tender spot underneath the man’s jaw, and almost instantly, he was out like a light. Arsene grinned up at Robin, who lowered his gun in amazement.

“All in a day’s work.” Arsene nodded, artfully disassembling de Ville’s gun and setting it down next to him. “Thank you very much, Robin. The children I had been looking for will be returned to their homes soon enough.”

Robin gaped at him. “You… were looking for the children?”

“To steal them, yes.” Arsene nodded. “You know how I choose my victims—rich, powerful people with twisted desires and sins that are worth exploiting for justice. One of the victims—Maddie Davies—her parents are… _friends_ of mine. They had turned to me to look for her while they felt the police was inadequate.” He paused, and laughed softly. “No offence, of course.”

“N-none taken.” Robin shook his head.

“I caught wind of how de Ville’s operations ran, and knew I could not defeat him in my own.” Arsene smiled at him, stepping over the unconscious man to press close to Robin, slinging his arms around the back of the man’s neck. Up close, Robin eyed Arsene’s beauty mark carefully, the way his eyelashes fluttered against it as he blinked. “So I called for you, my darling. You were the only person who could help me.”

He kissed Robin softly, almost chastely, and Robin jumped when he heard officers finally arriving behind them. He tore away from Arsene, who laughed softly as the officers began wolf-whistling and hooting at them. A fierce blush crossed Robin’s cheeks, and he shook his head vigorously as he pulled Arsene aside with him to show them the unconscious de Ville.

“T-take him away.” He said, and the officers got to work. The detective leading the group gave Robin a toothy grin and cocked his head at Arsene.

“Evenin’, Miss.” He said, and Arsene gave him a coy giggle and a wave.

“Marianne.” Robin had wanted to keep Arsene in line, but it came out as a possessive growl, and Arsene looked up at him with delight. The detective laughed out loud, shaking his head.

“Sorry, didn’t know she was yours.” He said, raising his hands defensively. “We’ll mop up the mess here, and uh,” he gave Arsene a wink, “Perhaps you should take the lady home?”

“That would be splendid.” Arsene said sweetly, “Ah, Officer? How about the children?”

“Oh, right.” Robin nodded. “It can’t be just those three, right?”

“We found more backstage, all in cages too.” The man shook his head. “We’ll get them all home soon.”

Arsene melted against Robin in relief. “Thank you.”

“The fight’s far from over,” Robin said, “There’s still a case to build.”

“Yep.” The detective nodded. “And looks like you’re building it yourself, Ganimard. Man, look at you—you’ll be Chief in no time.”

Robin blushed at that, and Arsene leaned against his side, giggling softly.

“Hear that, Robin?” He said. “I’m so glad.”

Robin blinked at him, and took a deep breath.

“I’ll—I’ll take Marianne home.” He volunteered, and he ushered Arsene out of the function hall.

* * *

Arsene climbed into the front passenger seat of Robin’s sedan, cooing at the interior as the detective got the engine started.

“Ooh, how quaint. I haven’t been in a low-cost sedan in a while.” He said cheerfully, and Robin only grunted in response. The ride to his apartment was quiet, and when he pulled to a stop, the two men sat next to each other quietly. Arsene was smiling, though he still hadn’t taken his Marianne disguise off. “Your apartment.” He said simply, not accusatory nor questioning.

“I… don’t actually know where you live.”

“Well.” Arsene chuckled. “This _can_ be home.”

Robin finally looked at him, and Arsene reached down to take his hand and squeeze it on top of the gear shifter.

“If you consent to it, I really would like to make this home.”

* * *

Things with Arsene always somehow ended up like this—

Robin, pressing the thief up hard against the wall, their lips locked together while Arsene’s legs wrapped around his waist as tightly as Robin’s hands on his wrists.

Tonight, Robin’s apartment served as the backdrop, and his bedroom wall was hard against Arsene’s back. Arsene’s wig was on the floor, and half his dress was falling off as they kissed passionately, Arsene’s lewd moans muffled by Robin’s mouth.

Tonight, there was a strange charge to their kisses, Arsene’s breathy gasps and the way Robin rutted against his hips. It felt like a dam had burst some time ago, and the water it held back kept flowing and flowing and flowing, drowning the both of them in the roar of their blood in their ears.

“To the bed, please,” Arsene’s voice was breathy, but Robin was breathless at the sound of it, wrecked and desperate, so he did as he was told. He lifted Arsene easily and pressed him close to feel his erection poking him through his skirt, though he knew his own straining cock had been poking Arsene since he pinned him to the wall.

He carried Arsene to his bed, setting him down delicately only to have Arsene yank him down with him by his necktie, pulling him up to straddle him, caging him with his much larger body against the bed. Arsene kissed him deeply again, their tongues swirling against each other, and the thief let out a pleased hum when they pulled away, a thin thread of saliva connecting them for a brief, mind-numbingly erotic moment, before severing as quickly as it appeared.

As if by instinct, Robin pinned him down again with vice grips on his wrists, and Arsene hummed in approval. “Mm, I love being made helpless by you.”

“Arsene.”

“Yes, Robin?”

“We…” Arsene blinked up to see an impressive flush on the man’s cheeks. “We saved so many children.”

Arsene smiled warmly at him, and nodded. “Yes darling, we did.”

“I thought—I thought you were just—”

“A thief?” Arsene chuckled from under him, always looking so perfectly in place pinned down by Robin’s hands. “I am a _gentleman_ thief. I steal to save others—though tonight, I owe the success of the operation to you.”

“You—that operation—that gave my career the boost of my life.”

“Yes.” Arsene’s smile was warm. “I did it for you, as well.”

God, his heart was racing.

“ _Why?_ ”

“I’ve said it before, darling.” Arsene purred, leaning up to kiss him, surprisingly chastely. “I think I’m in love.”

Robin squeezed Arsene’s wrists, and the man sighed happily. “What about you?”

“I...” he couldn’t say it. Arsene was a thief. He was a detective. Water and oil didn’t mix, the moon always chased the sun, and the sun chased the moon, never to meet.

He chose the next best thing, and leant down to kiss Arsene.

When he pulled away, the sight of Arsene blushing made him stop. Him—the incubus of high society, reduced to a quiet, blushing man beneath him. Robin never thought he’d see the day.

“May we—please?” Arsene asked, almost shyly, and Robin blinked at him. “You don’t have to say it. But I—I would like to—”

Robin kissed him again, letting go of his wrists to let Arsene pull him closer, to get as little space between them as possible.

They parted for air, inevitably, and Arsene let out a shaky sigh of laughter.

“It is not your first, I hope?”

“First with a man.” He replied, “I... walk me through it.”

Arsene blinked at him. “You... you want this. You’re fully consenting to this?”

“Yes.” It was Robin’s turn to blush. “Now, show me how it’s done.”

Arsene melted in relief, and nodded. “On your back. It is easier that way.”

Robin looked nervously down at Arsene, but nodded, lying down on his back while Arsene climbed out of bed, humming while he looked around the place.

“Um, Arsene?”

“Ah, here.” Arsene returned with Robin’s stashed bottle of lube, and the man let out an incredulous laugh.

“You know, with how well you know my house, you may as well live here.” He said, and Arsene stopped in the middle of climbing back in bed to blink at him. Robin stopped, when he realised the meaning of his words, and he spluttered in embarrassment, as Arsene burst out laughing.

“Maybe a few more dates.” He said, and Robin couldn’t help but smile at that. “Oh, _merde._ This dress is in the way.”

Robin’s jaw fell slack at the sight of Arsene suddenly stripping down, and he held his breath in alarm when he saw Arsene was wearing an underbust corset, black stockings held up by a lace garter belt and black lace panties.

He swallowed nervously. “I-uh. A-all out, huh?”

Arsene gave him a sultry grin, and Robin felt his dick give an interested jerk.

“But of course. To steal is an art for me.” He replied, slipping his gloves and panties off to let Robin see his own erection, standing proud and leaking.

He crawled back into bed on top of Robin, and deftly undid his fly, leaning down without warning to take half the length right into his mouth. Robin let out a shout of shock and pleasure, feeling Arsene suck around him with expert, teasing care, and he threw his head back as he felt Arsene take him deeper, and deeper—

“Holy _shit._ ” He breathed, and he peered down to see Arsene’s nose buried in his crotch. “Th-that’s… all of… _Arsene._ ”

The thief popped off him with a pleased smirk, lips swollen and wet. “You’re quite sizeable, darling. An excellent challenge.” He wrapped a hand around the base of Robin’s cock, giving it a few teasing tugs, relishing the groan of pleasure he got from the detective. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

He pressed a kiss to the weeping head, smearing his lips with precum, and Robin had to hold himself back from coming right then and there. Arsene smirked slowly at that, and swallowed Robin down again, moaning softly as his hips began to move of their own accord.

“W-wait, Arsene, what are you—”

Arsene abruptly pulled off Robin’s cock with an obscene _pop_ , and grinned. “Preparing myself, of course.”

Robin gaped at him. “Preparing for— _fuck,_ ” he swore, when Arsene gave his cock a few more tugs before slipping a condom on it. Robin didn’t even know where the condom came from, but he was glad it was there, especially when he felt a particularly strong gush of precum burst out from him.

“Well, to put it in such a vulgar way, yes.” Arsene chuckled, lifting himself up, and Robin realised the man had a hand behind him the whole time. “I am preparing for a fuck.”

The expletive rolled off Arsene’s tongue so hotly, it made Robin whimper slightly. The thief kissed him tenderly for that, letting him taste himself on Arsene’s tongue, but when Robin felt something poking his cock, he pulled away to realise Arsene had aligned his entrance to the head of Robin’s cock.

“Arsene—”

Then he sank down, and Robin saw stars behind his eyes. Pleasure rolled over him, drowning his mind with desire as tight heat pressed all around his aching cock. This felt _amazing_ —though, it had been a while since Robin had sex. The sudden need for contact overwhelmed him, and he couldn’t help but buck into Arsene’s heat, drawing out a wanton moan from the thief that sounded like Robin’s name.

“Ooh, rough for a first timer…” Arsene managed, straining, but he was grinning widely. “You aren’t quite as good a boy as you let others see you, Detective Ganimard.”

“S-Sorry. H-haven’t had—not in a long time.”

“Oh?” Arsene grinned slightly, and bounced on Robin’s cock, just once. The man groaned in pleasure, spiking into a choked gasp when Arsene squeezed him. “I wonder how much it will take to drive you wild, then?”

Arsene slowly began to ride him, tortuous and teasing as he raised himself slowly, before easing himself downwards to impale himself on Robin’s cock. The detective hissed, his hands flying down to Arsene’s hips more as an anchor to hold onto rather than to control him. Arsene’s pants were shaped around a triumphant grin as he slowly built up the pace, speeding up but then slowing down again when Robin began to unconsciously meet Arsene’s bounces with thrusts.

“ _Arsene_.” Robin practically growled, and Arsene let out a breathless giggle.

“Play with me, Robin darling. Use me as a toy.”

Robin groaned at Arsene’s words, twitching involuntarily as he thrust up into Arsene particularly roughly.

“Oh! Yes!” The man laughed, “That’s it. Off to a gallop.”

Robin squeezed Arsene’s hip in some semblance of a warning before he began thrusting up into the thief roughly, his hands taking over Arsene’s pace to change it into a brutal, punishing one. The amusement in Arsene’s expression quickly melted into delighted surprise, and the thief threw his head back in a moan as he enthusiastically bounced to the fast pace Robin set.

Robin felt himself nearing the edge, wincing as he felt Arsene’s hips begin to stutter—he was close, he could feel it.

“O-oh, Robin—I—I feel so—” Arsene sounded incoherent, and Robin reached up to pull him down into a bruising kiss. Arsene let out a whine of approval, rutting against Robin a few more times before he stiffened up, squeezing tightly around Robin’s cock.

The pressure was enough to push Robin to his climax, and with a groan that Arsene eagerly swallowed, he came _hard_ , buried deep inside the thief as he emptied his load into the condom.

The both of them slumped down, exhausted, and Arsene laughed softly into Robin’s mouth. He laced their fingers together, and pulled off the man with a contented sigh.

“D-did you—” Robin began, and he blinked when Arsene pulled off a condom from his own cock, tying it neatly before easily tossing it into the trash over his shoulder. He let out an incredulous laugh, and settled down when Arsene cleaned Robin up, too, helping each other pull his clothes off until the both of them were naked in his bed. The thief easily settled in Robin’s arms, and the detective pulled his blanket over the both of them.

“Now _this_ is quite the life.” Arsene said warmly, kissing Robin’s nose as they settled. “I wouldn’t give this for anything in the world.”

Robin chuckled, and nodded.

“Yeah, me too.”

* * *

It wasn’t love, he thought. At least, not in the way Arsene said it so easily, in dates before on rooftops, in skeevy alleyways and tight squeezes, the Piazzale Michelangelo in the early hours of the morning.

He kissed Arsene the way he would a lover. They didn’t fuck so much as they made love. The hours before Arsene’s heists were spent in each other’s company, hand in hand on romantic dates that extended until during Arsene’s heists. Arsene stole baubles and paintings and diamonds—Robin stole kisses, his breath, his hand as he was about to leave.

It wasn’t love, he thought, but it certainly felt that way.

* * *

Tokyo, Japan—Robin found himself meandering through the Shinjuku crowd, chasing after fluttering coattails in the crowd of salarymen and exhausted-looking youth. The chase after Arsene began in Ueno, and Robin took his time with the thief in a gallery full of Madarame artworks, Arsene’s commentary in his ear and his hand in his a welcome sensation in the many heists that started off as dates.

Dates, he thought with fondness—he didn’t know when he started calling them that, but he figured they were as the label said.

Tokyo was beautiful. All the other cities before Tokyo were beautiful, the world was amazing, as Arsene said, and Robin couldn’t help but be thankful to know Arsene saw it as the glittering, gleaming little paradise that it was.

Seeing the world with the man he loved made it glitter more, like gold.

Robin had paused in the middle of the gallery, staring at a golden Madarame portrait he couldn’t remember at the realisation.

He loved him.

There was no denying it—ever since the first day they met, watching the sunset—he had begun falling.

Tokyo in itself was a lucky charm, he thought, and Arsene’s theft of the portrait he’d been looking at signalled the start of a chase that would always definitely end in a stalemate.

He was smiling as he ran out the door, the Tokyo PD right on his heels.

* * *

“The Metaverse Hotel.” Robin panted into his radio as he hurried into the lobby, flashing his badge as he headed towards a pair of double-doors Arsene ran into. He went right past a pair of masked guards and entered a casino filled with masked people, and Robin paused for a moment, blinking in confusion.

Odd choice for a casino theme, he thought. Japan really _was_ interesting.

He took a look around, whirling around as a commotion burst around him thanks to the confusion he brought with his barging in, but he was used to it. By now, Robin had barged into many a function, and barging into The Metaverse Hotel’s casino was nothing new. He hurried past confused, masked patrons as he looked frantically around for Arsene’s silhouette, by now so used to it with how long he kept finding it.

He could always find Arsene’s silhouette, he remembered it so vividly, in whatever disguise he wore, in dense crowds, in the darkness of a hotel room, his lips tracing butterfly lines down his neck to his shoulder.

He could always find Arsene.

He was the only one who _could._

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye, and Robin whirled around to see him—Arsene, masked with a dark black mask—Marianne’s mask, he realised—smirking slightly as he chatted with a pretty young boy, not older than 16 in an ill-fitting red cheongsam. Intrigue flickered in Robin’s mind—the boy was clearly a prostitute, beautiful and dolled up as he was, but he was clearly a minor.

Arsene had an agenda coming to The Metaverse, did he?

Robin tore his eyes away from Arsene to look towards the poker tables to realise a crowd had amassed there, overseeing a game that had been going on before Robin had burst in. A bald man, his face hidden with a mask, was on his feet, and he was pointing at Robin with an accusatory finger.

Realisation crossed Robin’s face. They weren’t in Shinjuku Kabuki-chou.

This hotel’s casino was _illegal._

The prostitute Arsene was talking to was a minor—who knew how many more minors this casino employed as sex workers?

“Alright, freeze!” He called, “I’m Chief Detective Inspector Robin Ganimard, I’m here to chase after Arsene Lupin,” He glowered up at the tall, bald man. “And I’m here to put a stop to Metaverse casino operations.”

Uproar. Chaos. Robin turned around, and he saw Arsene smiling at him proudly as they heard sirens from beyond the casino. There was only a brief moment of clarity between them—

And the gunshots rang out.

* * *

Arsene lost track of Robin the moment the gunshots rang out, and the prostitute in front of him—Joker—had jumped in alarm. Arsene ducked the boy’s head down, pushing him under the table they stood next to as he took off into a sprint, pushing aside panicking, screaming casino guests, fear climbing his throat.

Where was Robin—

Where the _hell_ was Robin?

“Robin!” He called out, panic seeping into his heart as the worst crept into his blood.

“Arsene!” he heard his voice, and relief flooded his chest as the crowd cleared up, for only the briefest moments, his eyes widened at the sight of a pretty young brunet boy, wearing a deep black mask that covered most of his face save for his frowning lips, painted pink. The boy was holding up a gun, barrel smoking, and Arsene only had a moment to breathe—

“Robin?” He said softly, and the boy fired his gun.

Not at Arsene—

But at Robin, who was already on the ground.

His world screeched to a halt, and only sheer horror made Arsene flick his dagger out of his sleeve to throw it at the brunet, the blade burying into his shoulder. The brunet dropped his gun, and hurried away, but Arsene hardly cared as he fell onto his knees, pulling Robin onto his lap.

His blood felt like ice—his fingers were thick and inept at the sight of blood.

So much _blood._

“A-Arsene,” Robin choked out, and the thief jolted when the detective pressed bloody fingers to his cheek. “You’re… crying.”

“R-Robin, I-I made a mis—a mista—”

“I know.” Robin winced, and he lifted his other hand from his solar plexus. It was red, just like Arsene’s silk gloves, like his cheek. “S-sorry. Looks like… our usual method… didn’t work as well as we hoped, huh?” He laughed weakly as Arsene shook his head, throwing his mask aside as he pulled Robin into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t… careful.”

“Neither was I—oh, Robin, I—”

The man reached up to cup his cheek in his hand weakly, and his thumb rubbed over his beauty mark. “I love you.”

Arsene froze, his jaw dropping.

“I… I don’t think I ever told you outright.” Robin smiled tiredly. “I… I only realised here in Tokyo.” He flinched, “I love you. I’m sorry.”

Arsene deflated, and kissed him softly.

“I love you, Robin Ganimard. I will not stop loving you.”

“I know.” Robin looked at him, smiling warmly as his eyes slipped shut. Arsene’s hands shook, and he squeezed the man’s hand as he looked up to see casino staff had at least cleared the area of guests for them.

“P-please, you have to get help—we can still save hi—”

“What do you mean?” The tall, bald man said, and Arsene’s head turned to see the man standing behind the ring staff made around them. His blood boiled at the sight of him. He knew this man—he knew what he had done— _has been doing._ He was the man Arsene intended to stop that night with Robin. “You killed him, Arsene Lupin. You’ve triumphed over your archnemesis—be a little happier.”

Red flashed across Arsene’s vision.

“You dare—” He began, a snarl cutting air like a hot knife through butter, when the man laughed snidely, clapping his hands slowly.

“Well done. However, we do not allow thieves to run free in our great country, murdering thieves, well…” he chuckled lowly, “I think men like you deserve a cage.”

Arsene’s anger rose, and his hand, holding a cold one— _no, it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t_ —shook in rage. He never got to speak, however, when the young black-haired prostitute interrupted them.

“Master Samael, he was with me.” He said, squeezing into the space by slipping underneath the staff’s arms to stand by Arsene’s side. “He didn’t kill this man.”

Samael looked at the prostitute, smirking slowly. “Oh?”

“I was about to offer to service him when his friend was shot down.” Joker continued, and Arsene blinked up at the boy. “He didn’t kill him.”

Samael considered the boy for a long moment, before snorting.

“Alright.” He waved at Arsene dismissively. “Let the corpse go; the police will be here any moment, and do not waste my generosity.”

The prostitute seemed to falter, while Arsene held onto Robin tighter.

“The night with Joker is on the house for the inconvenience caused you.” Samael sneered. “Now make yourselves scarce or the police _will_ catch you.”

Arsene refused to move, but Joker held his shoulder gently.

“Please,” he said quietly, “Don’t ruin the reputation you built for Ganimard-san.” Arsene jolted, and he looked down at Robin, eyes already closed and seemingly so peacefully asleep.

He could only hope he really was at peace, at least.

He felt tears prickling his eyes, but he relented, nodding as he reluctantly set Robin’s body down, but not without kissing his hand one last time.

He couldn’t go to the funeral, after all.

“This is where we say goodbye, Robin.” He murmured against cold skin.

He let Robin’s hand go, and got up to follow after Joker.

* * *

The boy’s name was Akira Suou, and Masayoshi Shido had killed his family.

_“Help me become so damn important to Shido that he can’t get rid of me.”_

He vowed to avenge Robin, if Arsene made him into a Crown Jewel.

It wouldn’t bring Robin back to life—it wouldn’t plant his kisses on his beauty mark, it wouldn’t put his warmth back in his hand, around his body. It wouldn’t bring back their chases across gorgeous cityscapes, it wouldn’t bring back the nights they made love, or simply cuddled together, pressing lazy kisses on patches of skin they could reach.

But if it was what it took to finish what he and Robin had intended to start, then Arsene would go beyond just any Crown Jewel—

Akira would be the Koh-I-Noor of The Metaverse, and he would shine brighter than anything else in the world.

* * *

A night with Akira went from loose change to over a million in a single night, and Arsene couldn’t be prouder of him. Akira was beautiful that very night, and whomever it was who won him was a lucky man.

Arsene looked down at his masterpiece—the new Crown Jewel of The Metaverse, Joker—in a beautiful black gown that looked so much better on him than the previous Crown Jewel ever did.

Goro Akechi, after all, was like a cheap plastic gemstone, a decoration on a toy tiara, as compared to the Koh-I-Noor he made out of Akira.

He could just barely imagine the Lupin family heirloom around his neck, the beautiful Queen’s Necklace glittering in the bright lights of the casino, and the longing for Paris sprang anew.

Paris—home, the way Robin’s apartment had been.

He never knew he could be homesick for a person.

“S-Satanael, where are you going?” Akira asked, and the man chuckled, bowing at him.

“I realised I missed home, _mon cher._ Paris calls to me.” Excuses, he thought. He had never lied to Akira—he never will—though Paris wasn’t what was calling to him.

It was home, or the concept of it.

“But—”

“It was lovely to know you, beautiful young Joker.” He said, offering his hand for Akira to take. “It fills me with absolute joy to see how much you have grown, not only in confidence, but in worth.”

Akira took his hand, gaping at him, and Arsene kissed his knuckles.

“It was a pleasure to have met you, beloved Crown Jewel of The Metaverse.”

Akira’s eyes filled with tears, and he bit his red, red lips.

“Th-thank you.” He said brokenly, “For everything.”

“No, Joker.” Arsene smiled back at him, patting his hand. “Thank _you._ ”

Thank you, his words said, but his voice said, _I’m proud of you_ , and Arsene left, not wanting to see Akira shed tears for him as he left.

* * *

London was cold at this time of the year, and the Eurostar line had some time before the next train left London for Paris.

A lone man stood in front of a simple grave, and he set down a deep red rose.

“Oh, it’s you again.” the elderly caretaker said pleasantly, and the young man smiled at her as he helped her push her wheelbarrow along until it reached a bench. He helped her sit down, too, and she gave him a thankful nod. “Thank you, dearie. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I have been busy.” The man replied, sighing as he sat down next to her. “Projects, and such.”

“The vineyard?” She asked, and he shook his head. “Hm. The stables? The beekeeping?”

“A new project.” The man replied, and she hummed in understanding.

“And how is it going?”

The man smiled at the grave. “I do believe it is an overwhelming success.”

The woman hummed. “I’m sure Officer Ganimard would be happy.”

She turned to look at the man, and sighed fondly, reaching up to wipe at the corner of his eyes, wiping away the foundation he always used to hide his beauty mark.

“Arsene, dearie,” she said quietly, and she laughed softly when Arsene gingerly hugged her, burying his face into her shoulder. “There, there.” She rubbed his back, kissing his temple. “The rose you left is lovely.”

“I… bought it myself.” He said quietly. “Thank you, Vitoire, for keeping his grave clean as always.”

“‘S nothing,” Vitoire smiled, “You brought back my little Maddie. Least I can do.”

Arsene smiled at her witheringly, and a young girl peered out at him from the gates. Vitoire lit up, and waved her over.

“Hello, Mister Lupin.” Maddie said politely, “I’ve been growing flowers for Mister Ganimard, like you asked me to.”

“How are they?” Arsene asked, smiling fondly at her, and she beamed, looking at the small yellow potted daisies next to the stone with Robin’s name on it.

“They’ve been doing so good!” Maddie reported proudly. “Oh, and by the way, I think you should go to the police station.”

Arsene cocked his head at her, and Vitoire coughed delicately. “Where they’re keeping the evidences, dearie. They found something in Officer Ganimard’s apartment, and I think you ought to have it.”

The thief blinked at them, and Maddie gave him a sweet smile, squeezing his hands.

“The train has another time schedule later this evening.” She said, “Please?”

Arsene laughed softly, and nodded. “I can never say no to a sweet mademoiselle like yourself.” He said, kissing Maddie’s forehead to earn him bright giggles, and he gave Vitoire a hug again. “Very well. I shall be off.”

“Do be careful.” Vitoire gave him a wave.

He always was, now.

“I will.”

* * *

It was pathetically easy to break into the evidence box for Robin’s case. Arsene looked through each piece quietly and carefully, until he found a small velvet box at the corner. His eyes widened, and he quickly pulled it out, opening it to find a broken ring with a small diamond. At a quick glance, Arsene could tell the diamond had impurities in it, and the cut was subpar, but his heart swelled at the sight of it, all the same.

A tiny note was slipped inside the lid still unnoticed by the investigating team, and he opened it to see it was a messy draft of a speech.

He could only make out a few details, and he deflated, smiling softly.

 _Grandma’s ring_ , Robin’s handwriting said, _engagement, 1957._

Crossed out, somewhere in the bottom, _Arsene, I want you to ~~(hva)~~ have this_.

His eyes filled with tears again, and he looked down at the broken little thing.

It was imperfect, it was of poor quality, and yet Arsene wouldn’t trade it for the world.

He slipped the note back into the box, and shut it quietly, tucking it into his coat as he made his way back out of the station.

He got into his car—the Bentley he drove around London for some years now—and headed for the train station.

Someday, he thought.

Someday, when Robin was avenged, he would have the ring fixed, and he would wear it to the day he died.

For now, it was broken, like an unspoken promise of forever between them, like Arsene’s heart, for the years to come.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for trash talking goro but this was partly written in arsene's pov........


End file.
